


Muffled

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Regis has trouble focusing.
Relationships: Regis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Muffled

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate through the meeting, something Regis loathes to admit. He likes to consider himself a fairly responsible king, someone deserving of the title who uses it well, and he both reads every paper put in front of him and pays full attention during the council, but that grows ever harder as the hours tick away. It isn’t that the work is _dull_ , because most of his royal duties are. It’s that _other things_ fog up his mind. Regis knows he hasn’t done enough lately to assuage those distractions. He stares at Edea while she talks, but he sees Ignis in the corner of his eyes, tall and beautiful, arched over the table with both trim hands folded together. Ignis’ slender digits are intertwined, the soft pads of his thumbs occasionally tapping his index finger as he thinks. The long column of his throat is mostly exposed—the collar of his button-up shirt is folded down beneath his structured jacket. His ash brown hair is brushed to perfection, pulled back from his gorgeous eyes, his pink lips drawn into a supple frown and occasionally parting with quiet interjections. Then those pretty eyes turn to Regis, and Regis’ own breath catches—he realizes that he’s been asked something, and he has no answer. 

Several councilors are looking at him, and those that aren’t are pointedly averted. Ignis doesn’t allow his cheeks to flush. His councilors are well aware of his condition—they need to be if they’re to serve him properly. There is a burden that comes with his hereditary right: a cost to the crystal. He only hopes his eyes haven’t turned red while he’s still at the table. 

Basch is the one to break the silence. He suggests, coming straight out with it yet still dancing around the subject: “Your Majesty. You really must find a permanent solution.”

A series of nods echoes around the table. Regis doesn’t allow himself to blush. He knows exactly what Basch suggests, what they’re all thinking—he needs someone he can regularly fuck to quell the beast inside him. An incubus requires sex to survive, and he can’t help them if he’s not sated. But to choose anyone for such a role would be unconscionable. It isn’t just that he would crave far too much from any one person, but that to ask someone in the first place would put them in a horrible position. He doubts anyone would say no to their king. He would be taking advantage. And he _won’t_ do that. He’ll continue on with his own hand, even though he knows that it was never effective enough and is only becoming less so. He knows no other option. 

He sees the subtle accusatory looks and tightly answers, “I will consider it.” He’s already done so. But he must appease them to move on for another day. Only he can’t remember what they must move on to. What issues are left, what’s already been discussed. There’s a conspicuous silence as they wait for him to guide them. 

Dry mouthed, Regis announces, “Dismissed.” He can think of nothing else. He can barely think at all. He can smell the rich scent of someone’s cologne and feel his councilor’s collective warmth. Somehow, he’s grown hard beneath the table. Images flash in his mind of ravaging different members—driving into Kuja’s taut rear or sliding into Edea’s wet mouth. He’ll need to make his exit last. He doesn’t meet any of their eyes. 

One by one, they rise from their chairs. They make their way out, talking quietly amongst themselves, all too loyal to say anything more of his condition. He appreciates their discretion. Clarus follows, along with the other three guards that hovered around the chamber during the meeting. When the wide doors close, Regis realizes that only one person is left. 

Ignis has risen to his feet, but he walks in the wrong direction—he strolls towards Regis’ seat at the head of the table. His shoes echo loudly along the polished tile. He reaches Regis’ chair and lowers smoothly to his knees, gracefully bowing before his king. 

He quietly offers, “I volunteer, Your Majesty.”

Regis’ eyes scrunch close. He can’t look down at Ignis. The temptation is too great. Ignis Scientia is an incredibly endearing creature, mouthwatering and charming, far beyond attractive—Regis has daydreamed hundreds of times about claiming him, but it will never happen. Regis is not that man. 

Ignis waits for his answer, and Regis finally manages, “No.”

He can hear Ignis exhale. He opens his eyes to see disappointment in Ignis’. With a sad nod, Ignis stands up. He bows all the way from the waist. While bent, he murmurs, “If you ever reconsider, it would be my honour.” Then he leaves like the rest of them. 

Finally alone, Regis touches himself, right there beneath the council table, until he’s satisfied his wicked urge and has the strength to be _king_ again.


End file.
